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Saturday, May 14, 2016

Well, the road to my recovery has begun. Or at least it seems that way. I have an appointment on Monday for the home health care program from the mental health center to come over and enroll me. I spoke with the director on the phone the other day. I hate talking on the phone. I'm ok with people I know such as my sister or Mom - referred to as Dvs and Pg respectively - and I can call them back numerous times if OCD demands, but when it's somebody else it causes an extreme amount of anxiety. I knew she was calling though, we had emailed to set up the time. I tried to explain to her what I need. Ideally somebody that has experience with OCD and ERP though I know from last check nobody at that offices does. I also said that I want somebody to come and take walks with me, eventually leading to car rides. Obviously the more frequently the better. Somebody that understands that some days it might be hard for me to walk a block, and to gently push me to try to walk farther, but also know when to back off. She said that it might be hard to get somebody from that program out as frequently as I'd like, but there are other places such as Goodwill, EPI, etc. that offer services as well. I had never considered those places as options for a person like me. Without trying to sound bitchy or condescending, I assumed those services were for people with intellectual challenges or diminished mental capacity. She said she could check with those services and maybe all work together to get the help I need. I felt awful, horrible after I talked to her. I would have thought I'd be excited at the possibility of getting a semblance of a life back. But the thought of using a support person who usually helps somebody brush their teeth or take a shower was so depressing. I felt ashamed and embarrassed that I would be using these same services. I cried. I used to cry so very rarely. But this brought me to tears. That and animal cruelty or rescue videos. Those get me every time. I imagined a "support" person coming over and "helping" the fat, crazy lady walk down the block. Rolling their eyes and getting frustrated when she has to re-trace her steps, having trouble understanding why she's near a full blown panic attack when she's within eye sight of her front porch. I had planned on calling the counselor the next day to see if she had received my paperwork. I figured a phone call a day is enough. She ended up calling me that day, letting me know for some strange reason she got my paperwork super late, but that she was checking with insurance to see if I'd be eligible for "tele-services".Dvs came over yesterday to hang out. She had planned on visiting our brother Dg, but missed the time frame twice so came here. She left again for the after lunch visit and then came back for a few hours. I'm glad she was able to visit him. I hope that seeing his family and other people that care for him keeps him in a better place. I explained to Dvs about how I felt after talking to the home health care lady. She actually used to be a care giver and she said that hopefully anybody that would have a job such as that would be more understanding that I'm giving them credit for. I've never cared much about what people think of me, but this bothered me and still does. I mean, that's conversation fodder for the win. "Hey so and so guess what I had to do at work today..." and so on. We both think that it would probably be best if I get to work with the same set of support people each week, so that I can attempt to build a relationship and understanding without having to explain the situation to a new person every time. That's my hope anyway, but at this point, I'd take anything.As Dvs was heading out, we took a very short drive. Right down the street to the next main road. Right again then back home. It only took a few minutes and then she left. When I was gone, the counselor had called. She called me back a bit later and said that my insurance does cover video conferencing and we set it up to talk next week. I'm pretty worried about starting therapy. I'm worried that she'll realize that my case is far too severe and extreme for her to help me with. Plus, I'll actually have to start facing my fears. I feel that I need to warn her.So that's where I'm at. Hopeful. Scared.Excited. Terrified. And everything in between.~B

I'm Billie. I'm 37 years old. I have anxiety and OCD, both of which have lead to agoraphobia. I have been 99.9% homebound for four and a half years. I recently started video counseling to address my OCD. Read on to learn about my mental illnesses, my struggle to regain control of my life, and all the other things that are part of Being Billie.